


Ignition

by Sheepnamedpig



Category: Speed Racer (2008)
Genre: Guilt, Incest, M/M, Matchmaking, Pining, Running away from your problems does not magically solve them, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheepnamedpig/pseuds/Sheepnamedpig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rex Racer is burning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ignition

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd

When Rex Racer first learns that he’s going to be getting a baby brother, he’s not overly impressed with the idea.   
  
The first time Rex Racer holds his pink and squirmy baby brother in his arms, he gets a premonition. He won’t see it for what it is for another decade or so, but he knows, somehow, that this tiny wrinkly thing that can fit neatly in his Dad’s giant one-handed grasp will someday be the biggest and most important thing in the world.   
  
Speed becomes the biggest and most important thing in Rex’s world sooner rather than later. His baby brother is still just that when he gets a sickness that keeps him up half the night wailing and screaming. When the family discovers that only Rex’s arms can calm the squalling bundle enough to fall into restless sleep, Rex feels his young heart and soul being inexorably chained to the life and future of this precious existence.   
  
Rex loves Speed. Wholly and unrepentantly. Speed loves Rex. Completely and unwaveringly.   
  
It becomes a problem, later on, for Rex. He delights in all aspects of his little brother: his hair, his cheery giggles, the way he snuffles in his sleep, his tweakable ears and toes, his unfailing devotion to his big brother, his high little sighs, his long, despondent face when Rex goes to racing camp, his daily phone calls while Rex is away, his determined clinging when Rex returns, his soft, slightly chubby skin, the tantrums he throws when he gets upset over some small useless thing—all these things are irresistible to Rex and he bends like a blade of grass under the pressure of his baby brother’s will.   
  
When Rex starts falling into the swing of puberty he starts having dreams. Dreams of the usual kind expected of a boy his age, but featuring a rather unusual partner. Under the heel of his palm, there is not the flare of a hip and bone, but baby-smooth skin and stubborn baby fat. Tangled in his fingers, not long threads of curling silk, but short brown scruff. In his ear, not breathy moans, but high little sighs.   
  
The problems don’t stop there. As Rex matures, so do his nocturnal expectations. The sleeping lover in his arms snuffles in his sleep. When they are (extremely) reluctantly parted, there are calls every day, occasionally X-rated, and when he gets back, a whole day spent in bed with an enthusiastic lover who refuses to let him go except to use the toilet and scrounge for sustenance. When his lover gets upset over something stupid again, they have it out, then laugh later over how stupid it was.   
  
They are always happy in Rex’s dreams.   
  
It’s wrong, which Rex full well knows. So he suffers in this delightful hell and takes his frustrations out the only way he can: on the race track.   
  
He drives countless thousands of miles, all the while going nowhere. He uses the track to punish himself for his transgressions: ten extra laps for a too-loving kiss on the forehead, fifteen for a hug three seconds too long, forty for an explicit dream with his beautiful, childish brother.   
  
Soon, Rex and Speed aren’t spending very much time together at all. Rex’s body burns in a swampy mixture of hormones and love, but only for the one thing it can never receive.   
  
All this time on the track is making Rex one of the best drivers out there. He begins to receive invitations to the best and most exciting races. He burns. He begins to accept these invitations.   
  
Speed’s face is still long and despondent, but his phone calls are hero-worship up, down, and all over. He still clings when Rex returns, and the older brother uses it as an excuse to get away with an extra-long hug.   
  
He takes Speed out driving a few times. It’s dangerous for his composure, and he forces himself to spend an entire day at the track each time it happens, but it’s worth it.   
  
When Rex tells Speed to listen, to hear what the car is telling him, he means for the boy to listen to the sounds of the engine rumbling, the wind roaring, the rubber flying over the track’s surface.   
  
Instead, Speed listens to her soul. Rex has never before heard it, but he hears it now and remembers the distant premonition that he once had. Speed’s destiny is starting to take off, and Rex is being dragged along for the ride, pulled by the chains attaching his heart and soul to the boy in his arms.   
  
Rex doesn’t know what to do anymore. That night, he dreams of the two of them driving, Speed squirming in his lap, hands clenched tight to the wheel, Rex tirelessly thrusting up into his brother’s soft and immature body. He dreams of being dragged along the ground, chained to Speed as his baby brother tries fruitlessly to sprint after something retreating into the distance.   
  
He dreams a premonition of ice and fire and death. He will remember it later when he needs it.   
  
He doesn’t know what to do, but the choice is taken out of his hands.   
  
Speed—innocent, loving, naïve Speed—almost dies, is almost killed by an innocuous-looking package.   
  
Rex leaves.   
  
He doesn’t come back.   
  
&&&   
  
The decision to die is surprisingly easy. After so long away from Speed and countless, countless nights of burning agony with no hope for even the slightest relief, Rex feels as though the separation has been driving him towards his infernal grave all along.   
  
So, disowned and defamed, Rex Racer waits to die.   
  
Inspector Detector gets to him first. Clever bastard that he is, he turns Speed’s love of racing against Rex and convinces him to live for the sake of making the world of racing safe for the one thing on earth that matters most to Rex Racer.   
  
The decision to kill Rex Racer in ice and fire has nothing to do with Speed, but the decision to wear a new face has everything to do with Speed.   
  
(Rex Racer’s ultimate weakness was his baby brother Speed. This man’s face may no longer be that of Rex Racer, but some things are truly indelible.)   
  
Racer X’s new skin does not burn, and for a time, there is relief.   
  
&&&   
  
Predictably, it doesn’t last.   
  
Speed grows and flourishes, his round chin and limbs lengthening, innocent gaze sharpening. His innate talent, that instinctive communion between him and his car, propels him skyward into the limitless blue expanse, then lays him low just as readily.   
  
He is kindling caught on fire, and Racer X is quick to snatch him up and deliver that precious flame into the pyre he and Detector have built under Royalton and his pet drivers. It catches quickly, burning fiercely and devouring Speed’s enemies until there is nothing left but disgraced ashes.   
  
Racer X’s hands are burned for his trouble. The sensation sparks a chain reaction that sets his body ablaze once more.   
  
The dreams return in full force, but where there was once a soft, pliant body tucked into his embrace, there is now a long, toned, energetic young man meeting him caress for caress, thrust for thrust. Racer X does not merely burn—he is razed to ashes.   
  
Speed and Trixie kiss—he is immolated.   
  
Minx makes sly and vaguely pitying remarks. His arms no longer open to her, but they remain friends.   
  
&&&   
  
Racer X burns. Speed thrives. Trixie watches.   
  
These days, Racer X spends most of his time trying to get  _away_  from the track. Speed is always there, always beautiful, and always tempting. And because the pastime he used to rely on to punish himself for indulgence is suddenly infested with the very thing that’s causing those same indulgences, he’s suddenly trapped between a rock and his own mounting frustration.   
  
It gets worse. Speed touches him. Speed touches everyone, but the casual touches to shoulder and arm evolve into grasps of elbow and wrist and then  _more_  and Racer X is finding that the rock behind him is suddenly an amorous and determined Speed Racer.   
  
Racer X is caught between his love and lust for Speed Racer and the young man himself. It’s a special sort of hell.   
  
Minx and Inspector Detector watch the conflagration from the sidelines. Racer X can’t tell if they’re standing by because they don’t know how to help or they just want Speed to hurry up and have his filthy way with his disguised older brother.   
  
Racer X tries to confront Speed about the relationship the younger man is attempting to pursue with him and fails spectacularly. He is still the blade of grass beneath his baby brother’s heel, and all it takes to cut him off on the subject is a hand splayed firmly over Racer X’s leather-clad chest. Racer X looks at that hand, at its fine, strong tendons, then at the beautiful boy throwing himself at the older man, and runs away.   
  
Racer X has never before regretted claiming a new face, but ironically, the only thing keeping him from changing it back is the thought of hurting Speed.   
  
(Interestingly enough, it never actually occurs to him to just pack up and leave.)   
  
Trixie finally puts him out of his misery. She sees in his body language what she can’t see in his eyes, and sees in Speed’s eyes what Racer X refuses to see with his. Her tactic, tried and supposedly true, is to lock them in a closet.   
  
Racer X can’t speak for precedent, but he barely gets out a startled question before Speed’s eager and panting mouth is on his and his fine, strong hands are slipping into the chinks of Racer X’s leather armor to find burning skin beneath.   
  
That night, Racer X is too busy being kept awake by reality to dream.   
  
&&&   
  
The next night, Racer X finds out that Speed still snuffles in his sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Incest isn't usually my thing. Except when it is, apparently.


End file.
